Chapter 4

Sandra's pov 

Last night was a mistake.

A fluke in judgment, it was bound to happen. I wasn't made of bricks and I'd been drunk out of my mind, a lot of it was blurry in my mind and brought a curdle in my stomach.

  The smell of his cologne still lingered faintly on my sheets. My nose scrunched up with disgust.

  A faint warmth emanated from the sheets, it wasn't long since he left.

 There was a sink in my stomach when I saw the note stuck to my nightstand.

 It read; “Baby, I'm sorry about last night. I was drunk too, but I should have resisted, but…it's been so long, I was dying to run my fingers in your hair and bury myself in your scent. Baby, I'll be waiting at our spot two weeks from now. No pressure or anything. All I'm asking for is five minutes to explain myself. Please, Baby, I'm losing my mind without you.”

 I crushed the note into my palm, my heart throbbing against my ribs. What was there to explain? I wouldn't let him gaslight me.

 But…what if by some slim chance that maybe…just maybe…

 No, I weeded out the growing hope in my heart.

 I reminded myself of those moments when I had been waiting at the orphanage window peeking out, just waiting for the day that my father would finally show up. 

 It plagued my dreams because then my father would show up. He would have candy and balloons then the sweetest explanation possible, he pulled me into his arms and told me that he missed me every single day that we had been apart and he couldn't wait to reunite with me, Then we would cry ugly tears and I’d tell him how much I missed him too.

 But after every dream, I wake up just like how I was right now on my bed, to stark reality that didn't care about what my heart wanted. 

  I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn't hear the shower running until the vacuum suddenly went out. Who was using my shower? I wondered for half a second before the question was answered by my foster brother George stepping out quite casually with a towel around his waist. 

“Morning, Sandy,” He greeted me while my jaw was on the floor. I watched him with no hidden bewilderment trying to figure out just the right words to blurt out and ask what was going on right now. 

 Was there something wrong with his shower? Then why didn't he use his mother's instead? She shouldn't be home yet. 

 I thought my shock couldn't dive deeper when he came forward and tried to press a peck on my cheek. I moved away like he was radioactive, nearly falling off the bed. It was then that I realized that the only thing covering me was my duvet. 

“Sandy!” He called out his voice ringing with concern but I slept away his hand.

 “Are you okay?” He asked while dripping with water from the shower, with the only thing protecting me from seeing all of him being the small spare towel in my bathroom, and if I'm being honest, it's not doing its best.

 “Are you okay?” I shot the question right back at him, “Are you okay? Why are you here, wearing that flimsy towel that looks like it's about to fall off,” 

 He chuckled. My brain was scanning to see the punchline in this, but if he didn't start explaining himself soon, someone was getting punched.

 Even though we were not related by blood, I took George as my brother, nothing more and nothing less, so this was really creeping me out, him showing up half-naked in front of me.

“Why are you acting like this is such a big deal? After what happened between us last night?”

 I got on my feet, wrapping myself like suchi with the duvet, the room tilted beneath it by several degrees. 

“George, this really isn't funny…” I said hoping he just pulled the plug on this prank already. 

 He wrapped his hands in front of his chest. I'll give him one thing: he had a nice build. I'd never really thought about what was underneath his shirt before, but… he's still my foster brother, get a grip on yourself, Sandra Hathaway!

  As I was battling with my internal scolding, he continued to smile while talking about last night, he said we came up here together, and I raised an eyebrow in doubt. 

“I came with someone else…” I said, trying to trace back my memories of last night, but I didn't want to admit that the person I believed I slept with was also my ex-husband at my divorce party that George threw for me.

 “Yeah, I found you here…but you were alone, everyone else did say he left with some weird guy, and I was really worried about you, but luckily I came up here and nothing happened, you were just asleep. At first, I tried to cover you up and…” 

He continued to talk about what happened that night from his own recollection, he told me that I was desperate to get laid, “I tried to resist, I really did…” He said with a look I was measuring to see how sincere it was.

“But it just kind of…happened,” He admitted so casually with a shrug.

  I walked backwards hitting the wall, my head muddled up with dizziness, and my palms sweaty. 

 Each breath was deliberate and forced. George had no reason to lie about this, which means that I had slept with my foster brother. 

 Suddenly, his fingers grasping my shoulder brought me back to reality, and I instinctively shrank away from his touch.

 A flash of hurt passed through his eyes but he smiled nevertheless. 

“We were both drunk last night, it's okay…mistakes happen, it's no big deal, let's just forget about it,” 

 That was the plan, until two weeks later when a spectacled doctor handed me a test result with

Then he smiled and said.

“Congratulations, you're two weeks gone,”